Hurricane
by thelittlegirl-lost
Summary: "She is peaceful in these small hours of the morning, in a way that she never really is while awake. Right now he's staring directly in to the eye of the storm, the pocket of calm surrounded by turbulence, terror and torrential rain, and it almost takes him aback at how entirely different she looks when her brain isn't ticking away like mad."


At one point during the night, in the small hours in which they'd succumbed to an exhausted sleep, Amelia had pulled the covers and cocooned herself within their confines.

He finds himself waking up confused, the sharp coolness of the night prickling it's way up over his arms, and he takes a moment to catch up to the fact that there is _someone_ is his bed. His eyes filter threw the blurriness of sleep and adjust on the small outline of Amelia Shepherd curled in a nest of blankets beside him.

_Amelia steals the covers_. The notion has a smirk playing on his face, and he can't help but take her in for a moment.

She is peaceful in these small hours of the morning, in a way that she never really is while awake. Right now he's staring directly in to the eye of the storm, the pocket of calm surrounded by turbulence, terror and torrential rain, and it almost takes him aback at how entirely _different_ she looks when her brain isn't ticking away like mad.

Before he realizes what he's doing, his fingers are tracing along her hairline, brushing away the few strands of hair that have fallen across her eyes and nose. He maps out her features, trailing a single finger softly down her nose, across cheekbones and along lips, as if afraid this moment is all he's going to get before she's steals herself back to work.

Eyelashes flutter lazily, and she hums, the hint of a smile creeping on to her lips.

"Good morning," she murmurs, without fully opening her eyes. Her voice is cracked with sleep. She adjusts herself slightly to directly face him, and the cover slips from her right shoulder a little.

"Hey," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the newly exposed skin. She sighs, the sound comfortable and content, and it stirs something in the pit of Owen's stomach. She rolls in to his warmth and her eyes open fully.

"You're place is pretty _freaking_ cold," she mumbles into his chest.

"I noticed," he tells her in a quiet tone, and eyes the sheets she has cocooned around herself that leave him bare.

Amelia catches him, smiles sheepishly and turns her face away into the pillow. "Guilty," comes a muffled apology.

Owen chuckles and slides his arm over, pulling her closer to close the gap between them, and Amelia opens the covers from around her to envelope them together, skin to skin, and Owen feels goose bumps begin to prickle at his skin. He allows his arm to sneak under and brush over her naked skin, curving over to rest a palm on the small of her back. He strokes his hand up, and gently slides his fingers down every knot of her spine. Amelia's breath hitches, and she's so close he can feel the tickle of it along his neck. Her eyes flutter.

The first rays of daylight that filter in through his curtains fall exactly across the bridge of her nose, and the light enhances the few freckles that dot over it. The moment comes in an instant, as though someone has punched him square in the face, tearing his soul right open as he realizes just how damn _beautiful _she is. And not just in a physical sense, which yes, he'll admit drives him wild most of the time. He's a man. He's got eyes. Easy as that.

But it's the inane things he's learning that cause him to ache. Different pieces of her that build up to an infinite amount of knowledge he'll never bore of. It's almost like she's letting him in on a little secret in the way that she hog's the covers, presses the back of her hand to her mouth while she yawns, has three freckles dotted along her nose that no-one would ever see unless they were this close.

There's a consciousness that grows in him from the way she's looking at him right now, her mischievous grin beginning to play on her lips. She raises one curved eyebrow that asks him a question; blissfully unaware that he's answering an entirely different one when he presses his mouth to hers, heart in his throat.

He can feel that she's taken aback at first, but she invites him further by deepening the kiss, hand coasting along his jaw and sliding into his hair.

She rolls, allowing his body to cover hers, and her head sinks into the pillows as his mouth moves downward and into the hollow of her neck.

His name slides from her mouth with a sigh, and he can't help but get greedy now, desperation growing in the pit of his stomach with her being so warm and _real _in bed with him.

Between them, he thinks, unspoken yet so abundantly clear is that they are both in eye of the storm together. Together they create this small pocket of peace from the hurricane; and he wonder's how in the hell did this happen – how did he allow himself to end up smack dab in the middle of it with her, his heart already pulsing in time with hers.


End file.
